


and never let go 'til we're gone

by jemmasimmons



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 18:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6765481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemmasimmons/pseuds/jemmasimmons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'“Then you know what? I propose we have our own celebration. A party of sorts.” She hoped the suggestion of something unrelated to Kyle Miller would stop Fitz in his tracks. <br/>“It isn’t much of a party if there’s only two of us.”<br/>“A party is what you make of it, no matter who’s there. Besides, we are the special guests. We’re the ones who should be celebrating really.”<br/>The thought of a celebration wasn’t really music to Fitz’s ears. He wasn’t really one for celebrating, unlike his best friend who had once made him a cake to celebrate the first time he managed to watch The Lion King without crying. Though, he couldn’t deny that a party – just the two of them – wasn’t the worst idea in the world.'<br/>-<br/>In which Leopold Fitz and Jemma Simmons throw themselves their own little party to celebrate surviving their first year at the Academy, but after the first glass of wine things begin to go a little awry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and never let go 'til we're gone

**Author's Note:**

> \+ It only took a year of pestering for me to finally write this, no biggie. But here it is - finally! Drunk fic 2.0! This is kind of a prequel to the first fic, but really it can just be treated as a stand alone fic.   
> \+ A massive thank you goes out to Taylor for helping me with this. You have been an absolute godsend these past few weeks and I don't know what I would have done without you.  
> \+ Title is from My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion

It had barely been fifteen minutes since he’d checked into the hotel that Fitz heard a tell-tale knock on his hotel door. So he wasn’t really surprised when the knock was followed by Simmons, rearing her head through the door asking if it was okay for her to come in.

“Sure, why not.”

Jemma closed the door behind her. “Well this is rather cosy,” she observed, clearly ignoring the obvious piles of laundry Fitz had already scattered on the floor. She never knew how he did it, managing to make a mess wherever he went, but it wasn’t like she wasn’t used to it.

“It’s not too shabby, I suppose.”

“Shabby? Fitz, compared to your room it’s a palace. You’ve probably never even seen a floor this clean before.”

Fitz pouted. He could feel himself trying to form an argument sufficient enough to retaliate, but when his mind drifted back to his room back at the Academy he realised he’d already lost. “Yeah, you’re right.”

A brief silence drew over the pair, making them vividly aware of their fellow classmates giggling outside their room. They were pounding down the halls, running around the place as if they were children.

“I hope they keep the noise down,” Jemma murmured quietly to herself. Her mind flashed back to the last Academy conference trip she went to and how she’d nearly fallen asleep in a plant during a lecture by the infamous Stark technologies.

“Hmm?”

“I said, I really hope they keep the noise down tonight. I’d like to get a decent amount of sleep before the final conference of the year. I’ve been looking forward to this for months.

Fitz hummed in agreement. Jemma wasn’t the only one who had been looking forward to this conference. The end-of-year conference was most infamous and exhilarating conference an Academy student could attend. The location changed every year for security purposes (of course) but the conference was a gateway for many students within the Academy for their future SHIELD careers, and was also one of the few times the three divisions of the Academy found themselves in the same place, at the same time.

It was also one of the few times students could get absolutely hammered.

“What’s going on?” Fitz asked as he heard students racing down the hallway, accompanied by a thumping bassline in the distance.

“I don’t know. Whatever it is, it’s something we’re not invited too.”

“I bet Kyle Miller was invited.” Jemma huffed at the mention of the name and told Fitz that he really ought to let it go since that sort of resentment wasn’t healthy, no matter the level of ‘douchery’, as he had put it. But of course Fitz didn’t listen. Instead, he just detailed every single reason that he hated Kyle Miller. There were many, much to Jemma’s dismay.

“Then you know what? I propose we have our own celebration. A party of sorts.” She hoped the suggestion of something unrelated to Kyle Miller would stop Fitz in his tracks.

“It isn’t much of a party if there’s only two of us.”

“A party is what you make of it, no matter who’s there. Besides, we _are_ the special guests. We’re the ones who should be celebrating really.”

The thought of a celebration wasn’t really music to Fitz’s ears. He wasn’t really one for celebrating, unlike his best friend who had once made him a cake to celebrate the first time he managed to watch The Lion King without crying. Though, he couldn’t deny that a party – just the two of them – wasn’t the worst idea in the world.

“I suppose.”

“So you’re in?” When Fitz gave a slight nod, Jemma clapped her hands together with glee. “Yay! Oh, this shall be so much fun!”

Jemma already had at least a dozen different ideas of what they could do for their own private little party, but there was one thing she had decided they needed no matter the scenario: alcohol.

“But we’re not old enough.”

“That may be a small problem, I grant you. However, it is traditional for students to let themselves go every once in a while. Besides, you did say you wish you’d had a more traditional college experience. What’s more traditional than drinking with your friends whilst being slightly underage?”

Fitz couldn’t argue with that. The amount of times himself and Jemma had been told by their fellow classmates that they loved them whilst being somewhat intoxicated was too numerous to count, so he couldn’t deny the findings of Jemma’s research. Though, he was still somewhat hesitant towards the idea.

“True, but how exactly are we going to get some alcohol? Because last time I checked we’re three years too young and many of our classmates hate us.”

“They don’t hate us, Fitz,” but the look Fitz was giving her seemed to indicated otherwise. “Besides, I have a plan.”

“You do?”

“Of course. Do you expect me to walk into something like this without one?”

She had a point. “Well, if you have a plan then maybe you should be the one to put this plan into action.”

“Is that a challenge, Dr. Fitz?”

“Maybe it is?”

“Is it really?”

“Really, it is.”

Jemma folded her arms and cocked her brow. As always, she was truly impressed with the boy’s wit, so she accepted his challenge without hesitation. She lifted herself off of his bed with the same bounce that she had entered the room with earlier, announcing to Fitz that she would be back in no more than an hour with snacks and some other adultly beverages for their own private party. So with a cheeky smirk and a bounce of her hip, Jemma darted out of Fitz’s room and let her plan roll into action.

 

 

 

Jemma had all of two minutes left on the clock when she rolled back into Fitz’s room, her bag full to the brim with an array of items for their party.

“Blimey, did you buy the whole shop?”

“Who says there was a shop involved?”

Jemma set her bag down on the side and caught her breath. Damn, Fitz noted. She really didn’t want to lose the challenge. Although when he thought about it, he wasn’t really shocked at his best friend’s competitive nature. What he was shocked by, however, was what she had managed to bring with her and find all in the space of fifty-eight minutes.

“How did you get all that?” Fitz’s jaw had almost dropped to the floor when Jemma had pulled a total of three different bottles out of her rather small looking bag.

“I used my feminine charm.”

There was a slight pause as Jemma continued to empty the contents of her bags before Fitz said, “You stole it when they weren’t looking, didn’t you?”

“Just a tad. No matter though.” She slipped yet another bottle out of her bag. “We have ourselves a little something to celebrate this joyous occasion. I didn’t know what you wanted so I got us a selection.”

Fitz squinted as he realised what else she was pulling out of her bag. “And grapes?”

“There were a lot of people my vision was somewhat compromised.” She threw her empty bag onto the floor before pouring herself a glass of white wine. “Though that being said, this challenge was rather thrilling. Maybe I should bend the rules more often.”

“Maybe you should ease off the wine, Jemma. I think it’s already making you say things.” He raised his hand to Jemma’s forehead, to which Jemma feigned a laugh.

“Aren’t they going to miss it though? All this alcohol?”

Jemma shook her head. “No. They were all already pretty drunk. They won’t miss it.” He questioned her further on the matter but she simply shut him down. “That’s the beauty of the plan, Fitz. Even if they do miss the alcohol, I’m fairly sure that we are fairly low in their list of suspects.”

“Only fairly?”

She elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “You know what I mean.”

When she handed him his glass, he raised in it the air. “Here’s to us: me and you. And to surviving our first year of the Academy with only minimal damage.”

“Well I wouldn’t say burning a hole in the roof of chem lab was _minimal_ damage,” she interjected, but quickly stopped in herself. “But here’s to that!”

“And here’s to you and you’re excellent plan.”

“Well, I can’t really argue you with that one. Cheers!” Jemma tapped her glass against Fitz’s, taking pure delight in the sophistication of slight ringing sound it made.

“Cheers,” Fitz repeated – to which Jemma found it the perfect opportunity to tap her glasses against Fitz’s, just for the sake of it.

“What? The sound makes me feel fancy.”

Fitz let out a soft chuckle in response. “Do you want some more?” he asked, noting how Jemma had already finished her glass.

She shook her head. “I shouldn’t. We do have a rather big day tomorrow.”

“It’s true,” Fitz nodded. “But you did bring all this wine. It’s a shame to see so much of it go to waste.”

Jemma mulled the thought over for a second. She couldn’t deny that Fitz was right, especially since she had gone to all this trouble to get all this alcohol for them. Though on the flipside, she knew the trouble drinking copious amounts caused – she had witnessed it first hand on more occasions that she would have liked. However, it wasn’t like one more glass could hurt, could it?

“Oh, go on then, just the one. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Cheers to that!” Fitz handed her her glass back, letting her amuse herself but tapping their glasses together once more.

“Cheers!” she giggled. She looked over at her best friend, who was grinning straight back at her. “See, I told you this was a good idea.”

 

 

 

Fitz laid flat on his back, his limbs spread out in every direction. He could feel every bone in his body, yet at the same time everything felt as if it was nothing. In his mind Fitz knew that it made no sense, however it seemed like a perfect summary of how he felt. Though even in his state he knew that there was only one word to accurate describe his situation at that current time.

“This was a terrible idea.”

“You just said one, Fitz! One! Look, that’s how many one is!”

Fitz squinted as Jemma shoved her hands in his face as she tried to indicate just how many one was. But even somewhat intoxicated he knew she was a little wrong. “That’s two, Jemma.”

She glanced at her hands and matched Fitz’s squint. “Oh yeah,” her nose crinkled at the realisation and she turned towards Fitz, laughing into his chest as she realised her mistake. “Whoopsies. But still, Mr I-said-just-one-but-I’m-going-to-give-her-two-or-maybe-three. You lied!”

“You didn’t say no!”

“That’s because I didn’t know any better then. Past me is clearly a numpty,” she scoffed at the naivety of the past self. “You’re twenty-three days older than me Fitz, you’re supposed to be the responsible one.”

“So now I’m the responsible one? It was your idea!”

“I never said it was a good idea!”

“Yes you did!”

“Did I? Oh. Whoops never mind.” Jemma turned and flopped herself beside Fitz, letting the springs in the bed bounce her up and down. “Do you want more wine?”

Fitz didn’t waste any time in thrusting his glass into Jemma’s face. _“Yes I do._ _”_

His words had their own rhythm as he watched Jemma pour them both more wine (which they both knew was clearly not the best idea) and tapped his glass against hers, giggling as they drove themselves further into a drunken adventure of a lifetime.

 

 

 

“Simmons, why are you on the floor?”

Jemma rubbed her temple. Frankly, she did not know the reason why she was on the floor. The last time she had checked she was having a rather wonderful time lying on her head whilst propping herself up on the bed next to her, but clearly that didn’t last as long as she would have hoped.

“I fancied living life horizontally for a while.”

Fitz screwed up his nose. “Why?”

“Vertical life is exhausting.” Fitz shrugged. Jemma’s reasoning made perfect sense. Life was exhausting, he admitted. And the vertical life they were living wasn’t all it had cracked up to it. This was further proven when Jemma soon added, “Also, I fell and I don’t think I can get back up,” rubbing her temple even more as she’d realised what she’d done.

“Do you need a hand?”

“No. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mmm,” she nodded, making herself a little queasy in the process. “Mmmmmm.”

Whilst Jemma continued to nod, crinkling her nose as the queasiness in her stomach seemed to grow, Fitz found himself trying out the horizontal life with her. It was a herculean effort at first for Fitz to make his way from the bed to the floor, but when he found himself lying only millimetres away from Jemma he somehow felt a little more relaxed (despite feeling ten times worse  than before).

“Why are things so big and so little?”

“Huh?”

“Atoms, duh.”

Jemma responded with a huff.

“Look,” Fitz intertwined his fingers with Jemma’s, pulling their joined hands towards their faces. “Our hands are made up of little, tiny atoms. And they’re all so little and tiny and look,” he shook their hands to further emphasise his point. “They’re so big. Well, you’re hands aren’t _that_ big but they’re still big compared to an atom which is only little. And everything in the world is made up of atoms. Everything. So isn’t it just fascinating how everything is so big and so little at the same time? How does the world even do that?”

Jemma shifted her gaze from their entwined hands to her fairly drunk best friend. Horizontal life hadn’t provided her with an answer of a satisfactory level, which marked it down in her expectations. So instead, she just shrugged and gave Fitz the only answer she knew: “Science.”

“Of course. It’s the answer to everything.”

“But I thought that was forty-two?”

“Don’t ruin the moment, Simmons.”

“Right.”

Jemma shifted her gaze back to the patterns on the ceiling. They were pretty patterns, she had to admit, but they were far too disorientating for her taste. Or maybe that was just the wine talking, she wasn’t quite sure.

After a moment or so of intense concentration on, well – something that clearly didn’t need that amount of fierce concentration from the young scientists, Fitz began to vocalise his thoughts aloud.  

“Your hands are really cold.” His line of sight drifted to his hand, or their hands rather, and how they were still linked with hers.

Jemma frowned, breaking their hands apart so she could squash them against her cheeks. “So they are,” she muffled through her contorted face. “That’s rather odd, hmm. It must be the wine.”

Fitz murmured in agreement. “Must be.”

Jemma found herself shuffling closer to him and interlaced their hands back together. A perfect fit, she thought.

“Can you keep my hands warm for me?”

“Well, I can try.”

“Good good. I wouldn’t want to have cold hands forever.”

“That would be bad.”

“Precisely. Oh, that tickles!”

Jemma laughed as Fitz blew air into the cocoon he had created for Jemma’s hands. He did it again, laughing with her as her childish giggles seemed to erupt within the room.

When her laughter subsided a little, Fitz brought her hands under his chin. Jemma shuffled forward slightly so that her forehead could rest against his (though not without accidentally whacking him in the head first) and let her thumbs tap against the edge of the cocoon.

“I can see why people do this every year,” she whispered.

“It makes a lot of sense.” Fitz looked her straight in the eye. Jemma was smiling – beaming, even – and so was he. “We should have parties more often.”

“Definitely. Although…”

“Simmons?” Fitz spoke slowly. Partially to show concern for just how quickly Jemma sprang up from the bedroom floor, but mainly because he thought he could feel the world spinning on its axis and it was far too fast and he just did not like it.

“Get up.”

“I can’t.”

Tutting, Jemma took Fitz’s hands into her own (or at least she did after she fished them out from under his bum, since Fitz very clearly, did not want to move. But then again, Fitz never wanted to move so it wasn’t really a surprise that he was making life difficult for her).

“Come on, Fitz. Help me out a little.”

She continued to tug on his hands, but he counteracted her weight with his body and words of abuse. When she finally got him into a seated position, he clung onto her arm and whispered “It’s moving,” over and over again. When she asked him what, his hands moved to her face and he squeezed her cheeks much harder than she would have liked. “The Earth, Simmons. It’s moving. It’s moving so fast, oh God. Jemma, make it stop. Make it stop! _Ow!_ _”_

Jemma looked bewildered, “What?”

“What was that for?” he took care as he massaging his earlobes after Jemma had pulled them for absolutely _no reason at all_. “That bloody hurt!”

“Yes, but did the world stop spinning?”

“That’s irrelevant,” he sneered, but Jemma knew that was Fitz’s version of a yes. “You nearly pulled my ears off! They’re my favourite ears, I’ll have you know.”

“It would have been fine. Besides, if I did happen to pull your ears off as a result of some sort of freak accident, they would have grown back anyway.”

“No, they wouldn’t. What sort of anatomy class have you been taking?”

As soon as Fitz asked Jemma the question, he immediately regretted it. She had that mad scientist look in her eye, and whenever she got that look it was never good. “Well, let’s just say that when I’m done with your ears, they’ll definitely grow back.”

Fitz clapped his hands onto his ears but quickly regretted that too as they were still sore from when Jemma had pulled them.

“Now,” she rubbed her hands back together. “Where were we?”

“No,” was Fitz’s reply, but Jemma refused to listen. She cupped him under his arms just like they had been taught in their mandatory field training lessons (which she never understood why she had to take since she and Fitz were never going to leave the lab under any circumstances) and pulled a rather reluctant Fitz to his feet.

“Well, that took a lot more effort than I anticipated.”

Fitz threw her a look, hugging himself where her tiny cold hands had touched his skin. “Why did you even want me to get up anyway? Vertical life was working out just fine for me.”

Vertical life had been working out just fine, she had to agree. However there were more pressing things that needed to be attended to.

“To dance, silly. I want you to dance with me.”

“But why? There’s not even any music playing.” This wasn’t exactly a lie as Fitz didn’t could the steady thump of sound coming from down the corridor as ‘music’.

“But there is music in our hearts, Fitz,” Jemma reminded him. “And our heads. And our hearts.” She pointed to her head and her heart to demonstrate to Fitz the anatomy he already knew. And since he had clearly been paying attention in their anatomy classes, he knew that she had mixed the two up.

“Well there isn’t any music in mine.”

“Of course there is. You’re just too grumpy to admit it.”

“I’m not grumpy.”

Jemma mimicked Fitz, folding her arms and dropping her voice several octaves lower. “I’m not grumpy.”

“Stop it.”

_“Stop it._ _”_

“Stop it, Jemma.”

_“Stop it, Jemma._ _”_

“You’re not funny.”

_“You_ _’re not funny._ _”_

“The Lion King is just for kids.”

“Excuse you, I shall have you know –“ she stopped herself when she saw the smug look on Fitz’s face. “Very clever,” she admitted, though not without narrowing her eyes to show her clear distaste at his wit. “But you are grumpy.”

Though in spite of her opinions on Fitz’s grumpy demeanour, she held out her hand and ushered for Fitz to take it. “Just one song,” she said. “Just one and it will all be over and you can return to horizontal life as soon as it’s over.”

“Just one?”

“One.” Jemma confirmed, but was quickly corrected by Fitz when she held up two fingers instead of one. “Just one.”

However three songs later, Fitz didn’t seemed to surprised that his and Jemma’s definition of _‘just one_ _’_ were slightly different.

Jemma pulled Fitz off of his bed and to his feet, directing his arms as she attempted to dance with him.

“Put some effort into it,” she prompted Fitz as she let herself sway from side to side at the sound of some weird 80’s music that neither of them had ever heard of before. Instead, Fitz just glared at her. _“Come on, Fitz._ _”_

But he didn’t move.

Finally, after trying desperately to get Fitz into the party mood, Jemma had had enough.

“You suck.”

She took one of the grapes out of the container and threw it at his face. He shouted as the grape hit him, which only encouraged Jemma to throw more at him.

“What the hell,” he continued to shout as a cascade of grapes were hurtled his way. “I didn’t do anything.”

Jemma didn’t seem to care. From the time she had begun throwing the grapes she’d somehow forgotten why exactly it was she was throwing grapes, but it didn’t matter. Watching Fitz squirm was rather satisfying.

“Simmons, will you stop!” he shouted among other things, but none of them discouraged Jemma - especially as she seemed to be bagging more headshots as time went on.

 _“This is Sparta!_ _”_ Jemma yelled, despite being completely aware that this was not Sparta and was in fact a rather average hotel room somewhere in Colorado (of all places, she tutted). Though, she couldn’t help but admit that a little dramatic effect didn’t hurt.

By now Jemma had found herself jumping onto the bed, and using the height advantage as a new tactic for their war games. Meanwhile, Fitz has pressed himself against the floor and willed for the grape bullets to stop firing at any moment.

“It’s alright,” he whispered to the grape victims he’d seemed to have accumulated along the way. He curled his body around them, stroking their slightly dishevelled skins to try and calm their nerves. “It’s alright, I won’t let the nasty lady hurt you.”

As if on cue, the nasty lady shouted _“For Sparta!_ _”_ again and hurtled another round of grapes Fitz’s way.

“Don’t cry, Benji,” Fitz whispered to his favourite grape – a small red grape whose skin had been slightly torn from the torturous events of the war. “It’ll all be over soon.”

Jemma continued to fire. He knew he had to respond soon.

When Jemma shouted her war chant yet again, (which – for the record - was completely unoriginal and definitely lifted from a movie Fitz could not remember the name to), he responded with an equally as loud _“Never!_ _”_ and threw back some of the grapes at Jemma (though not before apologising profusely for what he was about to do, but he just couldn’t let Jemma win).

But when Fitz got up to fire a second round of grapes Jemma’s way, the game suddenly crashed to a halt.

_“No!_ _”_

“What’s wrong? Fitz, are you alright?”

_“Benji!_ _”_

“What?”

_“No!_ _”_

“Fitz, what is – who’s Benji?”

“He’s dead.”

“Fitz, slow down.”

Slowly, Fitz pulled out his hand. Jemma rushed over to him, placing her hand on his wrist as she looked to see what he was cradling in his hand.  

“Benji,” Fitz whimpered softly, a tear rolling down his cheek as he revealed that Benji just happened to be the name of one of the grapes Jemma had thrown at him just moments earlier.

“You have got to be joking.”

Fitz’s eyes became transfixed on the grape. “He’s dead. I killed him.”

“For the love of God.”

He began to mutter something, but Jemma couldn’t quite hear what it was. Partly because his sniffles were too muffled to make sense of the words coming out of his mouth, but mainly because she wasn’t even making an attempt to listen to the nonsense he was wittering on about. 

“It’s just a grape.”

“But it was _my_ grape.”

“There will always be other grapes, Fitz.”

“But not like Benji!”

When Fitz started tear up again, Jemma could feel herself giving the eye-roll of the century. As he continued to cry, she felt as if she could give another eye-roll that would be the mother of all eye-rolls and would be such an amazing eye-roll that it would be written about for years to come. But instead, she didn’t do that. What she did do came as a shock to them both; but Jemma didn’t think about the consequences; she just ran with it. 

_“You monster!_ _”_

“He was already dead,” she muffled as she continued to eat Benji. He was definitely a half decent grape, she had to give him that.

Though, if his bleary eyed death glare was any indication, Fitz did not seem to appreciate this. “You don’t eat the dead, Simmons!”

“Well,” Jemma countered as she licked the remaining bits of Benji off of her fingers, “you’d quite happily gobble up a hot dog if you’re given the opportunity.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t bring hot dogs into this.”

“Why? It’s relevant.”

“Benji’s dead and you _ate_ him.”

If Fitz’s eyes could have shot daggers, Jemma would have been a goner long ago. Though, by the way she had just flopped back onto Fitz’s bed, eating any of the leftover grapes she had thrown at him, it wasn’t hard to tell she didn’t really care.

“And he was delicious. Just for the record. Though,” Jemma’s nose crinkled at the thought of the slightly sour aftertaste Benji had left in her mouth, “he tasted like butt.”

“How do you know what butt tastes like?”

“I just tasted it.” Not that she would ever admit it out loud, but Fitz’s butt tasted kinda good.

“I can’t believe this.”

Fitz sat on the edge of the bed and teared up again at the thought of his dead friend. He’d promised him he’d take care of him. He’d _promised_. He would have even pinky sworn on it if Benji had fingers, he was that serious about it. Though he clearly couldn’t have been that serious about it if he… He couldn’t say it.

“Come on, Fitz.”

Jemma attempted to place a hand on his shoulder, because even if she did contribute to the killing on Benji she didn’t quite mean it (well she did, but she didn’t tell him that). But he just shrugged her off and continued to sulk on the edge of the bed.

“Fine then.”

Jemma didn’t fancy wasting anymore of her time on a sulky Fitz. Instead, she flicked the TV on and scrolled through the channels to see if there was something decent on at this hour (which she highly doubted, despite not actually knowing what hour it was).

However, she was pleasantly surprised.

“Fitz, take my hand.”

“I’m not taking you hand. Murderer.”

“I thought we established that Benji was already dead.” Fitz tried to repeat his argument that “You just don’t eat the dead, Simmons,” but she insisted that he should let it go or she would eat the rest of his grape friends: dead or alive. Reluctantly, he dropped it.

Jemma ran to the TV and turned the sound up. She stared at the screen as if she had just won the lottery, and in her head, she had. She turned to Fitz with the same bounce in her step as she had had when she Fitz sauntered into his room a few hours earlier.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Well, if you’re thinking about Benji then sure.”

Jemma threw Fitz the look she had clearly been perfecting over the course of the night. “You really ought to let that go, he was just a grape,” Fitz tried to protest and tell Jemma that Benji was a better friend to him than she had ever been despite the fact they had their differences, but she talked over him before he had a chance. “What I was thinking however, was about the film that’s on.” She titled her head towards the TV screen.

“You mean –“

“Yes.”

“But we’re –“

“Not ready, I know. But this might be our only chance.”

Fitz took a step towards Jemma, close enough so that he was able to take his hand in hers. Benji had been erased from his thoughts, this was too important. Though, he couldn’t help but wonder how in the hell Jemma’s hands were still cold, but nonetheless he powered through.

“Do you really want to do this?”

“It might be our only chance.”

Fitz didn’t hesitate to agree. There were only a few opportunities that would have brought them to the situation at hand, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let it pass him by.

“Then let’s do it.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

There was a spark in Jemma’s eyes as she look at the sincerity of Fitz’s expression. He was grinning along with her, chuckling at the thought of doing exactly what they had always imagined doing, except this time it was going to be a reality.

“I should go and freshen up.”

“Yeah,” Fitz nodded lightly, scrunching his nose up at the taste of his breath. “I think I should too.”

Jemma took a step forward so that their toes were almost touching. She could feel his breath tickle her cheeks (and good lord, it was not the most pleasant smelling thing in the world), but she held her position and tugged slightly at the collar on Fitz’s shirt.

“Are we really gonna do this?”

Fitz took her hands and blew on them, rubbing them to keep them warm. “We really are.”

Jemma leant up on her toes and pressed a kiss to Fitz’s cheek. “I’ll see you in five minutes,” she told him before promptly spinning on her heels and heading to the bathroom.

“I’ll see you in five minutes,” Fitz called back, but she had already shut the door behind her.

 

 

 

“Come on Fitz, put a little more effort into it.” Jemma pulled his arms around her waist to the point where she could feel his whole body pressed against hers. “This isn’t fantasy scenario number two for just any reason, you know.”

“I know, I know. I’m just getting into character.”  

“Well hurry up, I’m nearly ready.”

Fitz ran his fingers through his hair and quickly tucked in his shirt. “Does this look okay?”

Jemma pulled a face, “Hmm. Not messy enough.” She ran her fingers through Fitz’s hair, encouraging his curls to be their unruly little selves, before pulling at his shirt so that little parts of the seam poked out from the top of his trousers. “There. Perfect.” She pressed her hands against his chest. “Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good.” She span herself back round to face the TV, “Because it looks like it’s just about to start.”

Anxiously, they watched the TV screen as Jack led Rose towards the bow of the _Titanic_..

Despite the fact that she was meant to have her eyes closed at this point, Jemma blatantly refused. “We are both too drunk for this to work if one of us can’t see,” and saw herself up onto Fitz’s bed instead of Fitz lifting her up their like Jack had done with Rose.

Fitz followed Jemma up onto the bed and took her hands as if it were them on the bow of the Titanic all of those years ago. So that when Jack asked Rose if she trusted him, Fitz followed suit. Though Jemma didn’t seem to get the memo as she just snorted at the thought of trusting Fitz on the bow of a ship since he was scared of heights and also inherently clumsy, but quickly stopped her train of thoughts and tapped lovingly Fitz on the cheek, hoping that he wouldn’t take offence.

With one eye open (because since she had done one bad thing she had now decided she didn’t have to play by the rules), Jemma watched Jack carefully lift Rose’s arms up into the air and hold her close to him as he told her to finally open her eyes at witness the waves crashing towards them. Her heart leapt in her chest.

Fitz didn’t quite take the same approach.

His hands were sweaty when he took hers – something Jemma had never imagined when detailing fantasy scenario two – and he moved her arms much too fast. If he had moved her arms any faster and flapped them up and down she could have quite easily taken flight. Fitz also stank of alcohol (but that one she let slide since she also stunk probably smelt just as bad).

Nonetheless, when the moment came for Fitz to tell her to open her eyes (which at this point were already open anyway) she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. His words were so soft that they tickled the inside of her ear. He’s been practising, she thought to herself.

Then the moment came.

For at least once every twenty seconds, the strategically placed fan hit Jemma’s face and in that brief moment, Jemma felt as if she too were on the bridge of the Titanic, holding Leonardo Di Caprio’s hands as he helped her to feel the entire world. But every time the fan turned away, her heart raced in anticipation for that moment to return.

“I’m flying,” she whispered with Rose, trying to ignore the various pieces of hair that found themselves being flung into her mouth. “I’m flying.”

“You’re only supposed to say that once,” Fitz reminded her.

“I don’t care. It’s too beautiful not to say again.”

Fitz murmured in agreement, tracing little circles around the palms of Jemma’s hands, knowing that any second she would start to giggle as the ticklish feel of his finger against her palm would be too much for her to handle.

“Stop it,” she squeaked, retracting their hands into a fist to try and get Fitz to stop. He laughed quietly to himself, leading her to elbow him softly in the ribs for ruining the moment.

“Alright you win.” And with a smug little shrug from Jemma, they began to re-enact the scene again.

Both of them knew the words by heart; they would watch the scene relentlessly whenever the clouds seemed to make their appearance as they always did.

Neither of them remember the scene being so imperfect – with Jemma’s hair flying all over the place, and Fitz having to tip on his toes slightly to see over Jemma’s shoulder (and without a boat that would inevitably sink, of course). In spite of it all, it was still beautiful.

They said the lines with a little too much gusto, and their movements were strong and sluggish, but even so Fitz and Simmons felt as if they were bringing one of their favourite scenes to life. Fitz even started to tear up again at the thought of the love Jack and Rose shared.

“They just loved each other so much, Jemma,” he sobbed into her neck. “Why did he have to die?”

“He didn’t,” Jemma said with a sour tone. “There was definitely enough room on that fireplace.”

“Right!” He didn’t really notice that he’d just clocked Jemma square in the face.

By now, the scene had ended only to be replaced by adverts that they would normally sit and mock.  However, they were transfixed in the moment – refusing to let it end with a drunken animosity they had never knew existed.

Slowly, Fitz began to pick up the lyrics to the infamous song ‘My Heart Will Go On,’ by Celine Dion – a personal favourite of his. His singing was almost a whisper at first, but as Jemma swayed along to the mellow tune of the song he began to find his strength.

“Every night, I see you,” he sang, throwing a glance at Jemma who peered over her shoulder and pointed to indicate that she’d seen him.

“I feel you,” to this, they stroked they hands down one another’s faces. “That is how I know you go on.” Fitz scowled as Jemma joined in on the last part, ruining his moment.

For “Far across the distance,” they ran to opposite sides of the room, pressing themselves against the wall to maximise the space between them for complete dramatic effect; Fitzsimmons didn’t things half-heartedly. Jemma even pretended to swoon at the thought of being apart from Fitz, though didn’t anticipate the effect alcohol would have on her balance, leaving her clinging to the door handle for dear life as she tripped over her own feet.

“I meant to do that.” Fitz cocked a brow.

By the time the chorus truly kicked in, Fitz was on his knees singing into the toilet roll that his heart will in fact go on after the truly unfair death of Leonardo Di Caprio. Jemma harmonised for dramatic effect. She even tried to open the door for Fitz, hoping that Leonardo would appear just on the other side. Though for some bizarre reason she couldn’t quite grab hold of the door handle.

“It keeps moving,” she whispered loudly as her hands only met air, despite the fact she could very clearly see the door handle in front of her. “Come here you little bugger.”

Though when the door wouldn’t open, she threw a grape at it and informed it of how incapable it was as a door handle, and how it was a shame to the door handle community, before re-joining Fitz in the next chorus.

“You’re here, there’s nothing I fear.”

As they sang completely out of tune and held one another in a tight embrace, they couldn’t help but think about how there was a hint of truth in the lyrics for their relationship. Together, they were fearless and they both knew it. They didn’t want to lose that for a second.

When they reached “We’ll stay forever this way,” the rocking had stopped and they held each other even tighter than before. Their noses were practically touching but they were still singing with all their might. They weren’t going to give up now.

The final line of the song sent chills down their spines. The scene had long passed and the fantasy scenario – whatever number it was – had ended, but Fitz and Simmons were still clinging onto one another as if they were the only things left in the world. It didn’t matter that Jemma’s hair resembled that could only be described as a rat’s nest, or that Fitz had somehow lost a shoe during his vivacious cover of the song. They were together, and that was all that mattered.

“You got the line wrong!”

“For crying out loud, it’s just a song!”

“But it’s not _just_ a song, it’s a Celine Dion song.”

“I’m well aware of who sang the song, Fitz!”

“Then you should be well aware that you got the line wrong, Jemma!”

Or so they thought.

 

 

 

“You haven’t even kissed a girl, Fitz.”

Jemma addressed the situation bluntly. She kicked her feet against the edge of the bed as she spoke, glancing up at Fitz who she knew would try to defend himself in this situation.

“Well, that’s not my fault.”

“Is it not?” He shook his head. “Then whose fault is it?”

“Grapes.”

Jemma milled the thought over for a good few seconds, before decided that Fitz’s statement made perfect sense. “Though,” she added, “I’m a girl. You could kiss me if you like.”

Jemma didn’t seem to notice the almost cartoonish eruption of red that had begun to spread its way across Fitz’s face; her train of thought was already in motion. “I could even teach you! Oh it could be so much fun! Besides, I am a little out of practise anyway.”

Fitz tried to protest, but he already knew he was too late. Simmons was already invested in the project.

She shuffled herself towards him, bouncing across the bed with both hands with sufficient sound effects until she reached him. She bumped her knees with his, purposely, of course, before resting her head in her hands.

“So,” she smirked, clearly enjoying the power trip the situation gave her. “You wanna know about kissing?”

Fitz hunched down to her level, mimicking her position. “I guess I do.”

“Well then,” Jemma straightened herself up. Fitz could already tell she thought she was an expert at this, despite the fact he knew she’d only ever kissed two guys – and technically one of them didn’t count.

Slowly, Jemma leaned herself towards Fitz – close enough that Fitz could smell the stench of beer radiating from her. “Let me tell you something few people know,” she glared at Fitz, clearly pausing for dramatic effect. “French kissing is like looking into another person’s soul.”

“Is it really?” Fitz’s eyes widened with a mixture of amazement and disgust, though mainly the latter.

“From what I’ve experienced, definitely.”

“Even with the–“ Fitz started to motion the movement of a tongue moving in and out of a mouth, but that was not what it looked from Jemma’s perspective. Nonetheless, she seemed deterred by Fitz’s innocently crude gesture and looked him straight in the eye: “Even with tongues.”

Somehow, Fitz wasn’t too convinced. “But that’s disgusting.”

“Not the way Kyle Miller did it.” Jemma found herself drifting off into a French kissing fantasy whilst Fitz decided that this was the perfect opportunity to emphasize that the thought of Jemma kissing Kyle Miller was even more disgusting.

“Come here, let me show you.”

Before Fitz had a chance to gather his thoughts, Jemma’s face was inches apart from his. Jemma could almost taste hints of the Hawaiian pizza Fitz had eaten earlier, scrunching her nose at the thought of fruit on pizza.  (“It’s completely illogical,” she had told him with a classic roll of her eyes.) Of course he disagreed with her and argued with her at length, but that didn’t matter now; she had a job to do.

Jemma directed the whole process, from brushing a loose strand of hair from the person’s face to what exact angle to lean in for the kiss (53 degrees, in case you were wondering). Every step, she articulated to Fitz in the most professional and objective manner she could muster, and every step Fitz duly noted as if these notes were the only thing standing between him and the most important exam of his life.

She didn’t kiss him when the opportunity came. Instead she hesitated, their lips barely millimetres apart. For some reason, Jemma found herself entranced by the way Fitz’s breath tickled her face and how his curled twisted their way around her fingers as she held the back of her neck. Every logical nerve in her body told her she shouldn’t, yet somehow holding Fitz so close to her was rather intoxicating (or more so, she giggled to herself).

She pulled away.

Fitz frowned, “I thought you were gonna teach me how to kiss?”

“I am,” she shrugged. “But you’re not going to learn anything without throwing yourself in the deep end.” She watched Fitz purse his lips, and just before he could interject she replied “Just shove it in there and don’t be disgusting.”

He nodded, his cheeks flushing a little red as he begin to overthink the whole situation. Jemma thought she could almost see his heart leap straight into his mouth.

“It’s okay, Fitz.” She squeezed his hand. “It’s okay.”

Tentatively, he followed her instructions to a ‘T’. He didn’t break eye contact with her for a second; and right from the moment Jemma laid eyes on him she was captivated. It was funny, she thought to herself. She had never known his eyes were blue before.

His hand grazed her skin, brushing away the strategically placed hair she had shaken into place only moments earlier.

“Well, you need the practice,” she had told him. He hadn’t realised that by practice, she had meant moving the majority of her hair from out of her face. But nonetheless, he adapted to the situation. She had to give him extra points for that.

When it came time for them to kiss, she could feel Fitz hesitate beside her. She hadn’t progressed her teaching to that stage, and maybe another time she would have taken more time and care with this somewhat important life lesson, however Fitz’s lips were soon on hers and her train of thought seemed to crash before reaching the station.

She hadn’t thought his lips would be soft. Especially since he was constantly stealing her lip balm, even though she had bought him his own weeks ago (but then again, knowing Fitz he’d probably lost it by now). Though, she couldn’t help but admit that it was a nice surprise.

But Jemma could still feel Fitz’s hesitance during the kiss. If she could have seen anything within the tangled mess they were, she would not have been surprised to find Fitz keeping one eye open, just to make sure that she was okay. After all, she was doing the same.

A few moments later, Fitz broke off the kiss. He let his head rest on hers just for a moment (something which Jemma was particularly impressed with since she was yet to cover post-kiss pleasantries yet) and caught his breath.

At this point, Jemma wasn’t quite sure what else to do, so she just smiled and punched Fitz in the shoulder to congratulate him for his terrific work.

“Fantastic! Bravo! Beautiful!” Jemma applauded him. “That was –“

“Terrible,” Fitz answered for her.

“No! Of course not! It was rather wonderful actually.” Fitz cocked his brow. “It was, Fitz. I am your best friend, you should believe me when I tell you these things.”

She leaned forward to ‘boop’ his nose to try and ease some of the tension (or rather because his nose did look incredibly boop-able and she couldn’t stop herself from doing it).

Fitz refused to look her in the eye. No amount of flattery was going to change his thoughts, his mind was already set. So with a sigh, Fitz flopped backwards onto the bed, completing ignoring the fact he hit his head on the way down.

Fitz refused Jemma’s attempts to try and ease the throbbing in his head, which really, really hurt, for the record. Instead, he decided something much more mature; curl up on his side whilst exposing Jemma’s legs and he tugged all the covers away from her.

“Fitz,” she called softly. She wasn’t stupid, she knew exactly what he was doing and she wasn’t feeling much in the mood for another one of their arguments. But when she called his name again she felt her temper beginning to flare. “Oh, will you please stop being so mardy.”

That got his attention. “You what?”

“Mardy. You heard me. Stop being mardy.”

“What the bloody hell is _‘mardy_ _’_?”

Jemma rolled her eyes. “Whiny. Stop being whiny, Fitz.”

“I will stop being _mardy_ \- or whatever the bloody hell you’re going on about - when you stop making up new words.”

Jemma sighed. She didn’t have the energy to tell him just how wrong he was, although she did really want to. It was something she did take pleasure in, after all. Though he was already grumpy enough as it is, and wisely, she thought it was probably best to leave him to it at this point. Even if every bone in her body argued against it.

Instead, she just flopped down right next to him. She accidentally hit her head in the exact same spot he had done, and it took every last bit of energy within her not to give Fitz the satisfaction of knowing that she had done exactly what he had. But she couldn’t help but suck in a sharp breath as she settled her head down next to his.

Jemma tried to tug the covers back from Fitz, but her efforts were futile. She called his name, hoping that it would bring him out of whatever mood he was in, but he just huffed and ignored her.

“Fitz,” she called again. She propped her chin on his shoulder and dug her face into his neck. “Fitz. Talk to me.”

Fitz hunched his shoulders. She called his name again and again, even whispering it into his neck knowing that the feel of her skin on his neck would make him wriggle, but even that didn’t lull Fitz into moving. Eventually, she just rolled back onto her back in defeat.

Jemma racked her brain. She wasn’t quite sure what she had done to make Fitz so grumpy, but she knew better than to argue with him now. He wasn’t going to concede.

She considered curling up on the bed and letting the dull buzz she could feel all over her body take her away into a deep sleep, so she could wake up next to him in the morning and go back to what they knew and loved. Yet she didn’t knowing whether leaving was a better idea, especially because he clearly didn’t want to be with her right now.

Jemma sat herself upright. She returned her loose strands of hair into a brief ponytail and sighed before taking one more look at Fitz. His shoulders were less hunched now and he’d rolled onto his side to face her.

“You look tall,” he observed until Jemma pointed out that was because he was lying down. But then he changed his statement. “You look pretty.”

Jemma brushed the comment off. “I’m drunk.”

“You can look pretty and drunk. And I for one, think you look very pretty. But also very drunk. See – pretty and drunk.”

Jemma smiled. She could feel herself turning the same pretty shade of pink as the wine she’d drunk earlier. “Thank you, Futz.”

“Did you just -?”

As soon as the word left Jemma’s mouth, her hand clamped over her face to try and stop anything else coming out. Fitz began to chuckle.  

“Futz?”

Not knowing what else to do, Jemma just shrugged and rolled with it. “Well, it is an improvement.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes really. Besides, who names their child Leopold anyway?”

Fitz sighed with eighteen years of resentment. “Trust me I’ve tried asking my mother on a number of occasions why she hated me so much to name me, Leopold. But she didn’t answer. She just squeezed my cheeks and told me to deal with it.”

“Awww, Leo,” Jemma placed her hands on Fitz’s cheeks and squeezed, just like she’d seen his mother do.

“Don’t call me that.”

 “Okay, fine,” Jemma brushed his cheek where she had just squeezed it before presses a kiss onto. “Leopold Futz will just have to do. And no, I won’t say it right. Never ever.”

“As long as it keeps you happy.”

“It does.”

“Alright then.”

“But then I get to call you Jeema,” Fitz added after a moment’s thought. He didn’t want to let Jemma have all of the fun.

“Fine then,” she shrugged. “Futz.”

“Alright then, Jeema.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

_“Fine._ _”_

They glared at each other for a moment, almost sizing one another up in a sense to see who would crack first. But then, with a synchronicity that only Fitzsimmons could have had, they both burst out laughing at exactly the same time.

 

 

 

“You know what I want to know?” Fitz leaned forward intently as Jemma let her words run over themselves. “I want to know what you sound like English.”

“English?”

“Yeah, English.”

“As in, from England?”

Jemma raised a brow, “Well that’s where English people are generally from. I should know. I’m supposed to be one of them.”

“Alright,” he agreed. “Though I have a proposition. I will do your accent, but only if you do mine.”

“Interesting,” Jemma straightened her back and leant forward towards Fitz, swinging her half empty glass by her side as she put on her best Scottish accent. “Well, I might only be a wee lass but I’ve been out and about and I know for a fact, Scottish people are in fact from Scotland.”

“Really?” Fitz’s grin span the length of his face.

Jemma nodded in reply. “Yep. That is a fact. Bet you didn’t know that with your one, lowly, PhD.”

Fitz’s jaw dropped. “Well excuse me, Miss I-Had-Two-Doctorates-Before-I-Hit-Puberty,” he spoke in a near perfect English accent. “I shall have you know that I also know things.”

“Like what exactly?” Jemma scoffed, sipping at her beer as she tried to hide her surprise at Fitz’s almost impeccable English accent.

“You know, stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“Yeah, stuff.”

“Hmm,” she paused. “Is Stuff a nice guy?” Fitz didn’t dignify Jemma’s dad joke with a response, only a death glare that he had perfected over the year they had known one another. “Oh come on, Fitz. I’m joking.”

“Find better jokes.”

“I’ll find better jokes when they make better ones.”

Fitz couldn’t find a better response to that. Mainly because there wasn’t a better response really because Jemma’s jokes were all terrible. Or rather Fitz wasn’t able to conjure up a response to match Jemma’s and had instead let the silence go on for too long for there to be any appropriate comeback now. However, he refused let her win. If there was one thing that Leopold Fitz hated more than anything it the world, it was smug Jemma. Even if she wasn’t facing him right now, he knew smug Jemma was making an appearance. He could feel her smirk burning into his spine.

It was now or never; he had to react.

“Hey!”

Fitz fixated his gaze onto the ceiling. “It wasn’t me.”

“Oh really.”

“It was the ghost of Benji. He’s out for revenge.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, Simmons. They can hear you.” Fitz dropped his voice at the end of his sentence and looked around, to which Jemma muttered something under her breath that he didn’t quite pick up. When he asked her what, she responded by elbowing him in the ribs.

“Seriously, Simmons?” Fitz elbowed her back.

“Seriously,” she replied and elbowed him in the same place she had done the first time.

They kept doing this, elbowing one another and giggling at the other’s frustration, for a while. They didn’t let it escalate first and instead just waited for the other to respond before they took their turn. But eventually, it was Jemma that took it to the next level.

With a rather precarious shove, Fitz went flying from the end of the bed. Jemma watched as he landed on the floor with a rather precarious _thud!_ and found herself crawling to the end of the bed to check he was alright. Although when she did, it was her turn to go flying.

“Bloody hell, Fitz!”

Jemma found herself on the floor right next to Fitz, almost exactly where they had started when their journey into drunkenness had begun. Except this time Fitz had pinned her hands to the ground.

“Well, this is not exactly how I imagined _this_ scenario panning out.” She tried to resist Fitz’s grip but somehow during the course of the year, the boy got strong.

But not strong enough.

Fitz was well aware that this was a scenario wasn’t one they’d planned out in meticulous detail – let alone thought about.  So whilst Fitz screwed up his face in search of answers, Jemma slipped out from underneath him.

When he finally realised what she’d done, it was too late. She was already sat on top of him.

“That’s not fair, Jemma!”

“War isn’t fair!” She laid on his back, further trapping him to the ground.

She was good, Fitz thought to himself. She was very good, in fact. He knew that already, of course – Jemma had been his partner in crime for little over ten months now – although he did not appreciate her wit being used against him. Especially in a war such as this.

“Oh my God.”

Fitz produced a sly grin.

“Oh my God, Fitz, that’s disgusting!”

Just as he had planned, Jemma practically dived off him. She didn’t think she could get away fast enough as she crawled across the floor of the hotel room, her hand pinching her nose to try and eradicate that smell from her nostrils.

“I never said you could use biological warfare!” she yelled from across the room, wafting her face because the smell just wasn’t going away fast enough.

Fitz turned onto his side. Jemma’s stomach churned at how disgustingly smug he looked. “No, you didn’t’. That’s why I used it.”

Jemma scoffed. Silently, she was rather impressed with Fitz’s tactics. She rather wished she’d used it herself now that the time had passed. Fitz always used to complain about her farts anyway.

But that didn’t matter now, because Fitz was getting up off his feet and he was heading straight towards her. Jemma couldn’t let him win.

She had to react.

_“Jesus Christ!_ _”_

Jemma tried to hold back her laughter and she watched Fitz freeze. His shoulders tensed as he felt the dribbles of water escapes from his curls down his back, whilst more escaped from the front, soaking their duvet covers in the process.

It didn’t take long for Jemma’s attempts to stop herself from laughing to fail. Her hand fell to her mouth as she watched her best friend seethe; he hated losing.

But he hadn’t lost yet.

Out of nowhere, Fitz moved back into action. He grabbed Jemma by her ankles and pulled her towards her, rendering her flat on her back at the unexpectedness of the situation. Then, he cupped his arms around her waist, flinging her onto his shoulder with a strength she never knew he had.

“Fitz put me down,” she screeched. “Oh lord, you’re soaking!”

Funny that, he thought.

“Fitz, I swear to God. I will kill all your grapes.”

_“Leopold Fitz, I will denounce you as my best friend if you don_ _’t put me down!_ _”_

Fitz smirked.

It wasn’t until Jemma heard the oh-so-familiar gush of water that she realised what was happening. She tried shouting, screaming, and even fake crying at one point to try and stop Fitz from doing what it was she thought he was going to do. But he didn’t fall for it for a second and from his point of view, his impromptu plan could not have worked out any better.

Just like Fitz had done moments earlier, Jemma found her shoulders hunching to her ears as she felt the cold water dribble down her back, seeping its way through her clothes onto her bare skin. She squeaked as the water first made contact. He’d set the water to the lowest temperature, the bastard.

“Leo,” she hissed. Water dripped from the tip of her nose.

From the inside of the bath, Jemma threw Fitz her well perfected death glare but it fell on deaf ears; he was practically doubled over from laughing so hard.

She wasn’t going to let him get away with that.

With a precision that only Jemma Simmons could have possessed, she reached for the shower nozzle and aimed it at Fitz. He yelped as the water dripped down from his head to his feet, greatly disliking how the water appeared to be even colder than before.

He lunged for Jemma, trying to wrestle the nozzle from her hand. But it was no use. She just kept spraying the water in his face. Even his protests didn’t work and he heard Jemma’s giggles as the water streamed straight into his mouth.

That was it, he thought to himself. Time to get dirty.

Fitz climbed into the bath. It was smaller than he had hoped, and lucky for him he had been lumped with the tap-end as Jemma sunk herself further and further into the bath to make less room for him. But that didn’t seemed to stop him.

He sunk to Jemma’s level (which was rather hard to do and she had literally taken up _all_ the space in the bath tub) and threw himself next to her, lunging again for the shower nozzle which was still aimed at his face.

“Give it back!”

Jemma lifted the shower nozzle above her head as Fitz tried to reach for it. “Never!” she yelled. “You’ll never take me alive!”

But unfortunately for her, since their time at the Academy Fitz had grown. There was a time where Jemma would make fun of him more being much shorter than him – her fun-sized best friend, she’d dubbed him (a rubbish nickname in Fitz’s opinion, but she reminded him that he didn’t get to choose the nicknames) – but those times had long since passed. To put it simply, Fitz now had longer arms. And now that he had longer arms, he could quite easily steal things from above Jemma’s reach.

And so he did.

_“No!_ _”_

Revenge was sweet for Fitz. He took great pleasure in watching Jemma wriggle around as the cold water seeped further into her clothing and onto her skin. Jemma shouted at him that the water was too cold for anyone let alone someone of her complexion, but he just laughed and shoved the shower nozzle up her back.

Jemma gripped onto Fitz’s hands and held them in place before he had a chance to do anything else with the nozzle. There was a moment – something neither of them could quite identity as Fitz hovered over Jemma, their clothes sticking rigidly to the outlines of the bodies, panting as they attempted to caught their breath. Something that appeared to be straight out of a film, with their bodies so close that they were practically touching, and their smiles disappearing and becoming replaced with something a little more unfamiliar. Something like a smile and like a smirk, but more a mixture of the two in a sense they didn’t know possible.

They didn’t know what it was, but they knew it was something.

And just as Fitz was caught in the moment, Jemma grabbed the shower nozzle from Fitz’s grasp yet again and let the spray of water consume his face one more time.

 

 

 

With her legs swinging out of the edge of the bath, Jemma began to ponder her thoughts on one of her favourite topics: bathtubs.

“You know what’s great about bathtubs?” She flashed Fitz a cheeky little smile as she answered her own question. “They’re like tiny little boats for your homes.”

“But they’re full of water?” As if to prove a point, Fitz circled his hands in the water that had begun to gather at the bottom of the tub, watching the ripples intently as they carved their way around Jemma’s partially sunken torso.

“But they will never drown because guess what? Bathtubs don’t drown.”

“How do you know that?”

“I have 100% faith in my bathtub.”

“Doesn’t your bath leak?”

Jemma revaluated her answer. “I have 95% faith in my bathtub.”

“You know what I have 100% faith in?” Jemma didn’t have to hear what he was going to say next because she knew exactly what he was going to say. “Colin Firth. I would trust Colin Firth with my life.”

Jemma took the shower nozzle from Fitz’s hand as he became lost in a Colin Firth daydream of some kind, and proceeded to shove the cold water in his face and booed him at the mention of _that guy_ _’s_ name.

Fitz wiped the excess water from his eyes. “What the hell?”

Jemma only responded with a smirk, holding the shower nozzle defensively in front of her. She was ready to pounce at any second.

“Simmons,” he warned. He gestured with his hand for her to hand him the nozzle back which only lead to her pulling it closer to her chest.

When he said her name again, she shoved the water stream back in his face. “Boo,” she giggled. _“Booo!_ _”_

He was tempted to lean for her again and wrestle the damn thing out of her hand, but just as he did the shower head appeared to stop working.

Jemma tapped the nozzle. “Uh oh,” she repeated as she felt her heart beginning to go.

“We should get out of the bath.”

Jemma threw the nozzle out of her hands in agreement. She let it swing on its cord until it eventually hit her in the head causing her to pout as her head hurt even more than before.

“Come on you,” Fitz took Jemma’s hands and pulled her slowly out of the bath. She stumbled a little as she tried to find her footing, but with a little assistance from Fitz she stood herself upright.

“Fitz, I’m dribbling.” Jemma pointed at Fitz, “You’re dribbling too!”

“We have the dribbles! What are we gonna do?”

“Strip poker!” Jemma shouted but was shot down straight away. The last time Jemma had suggested they play strip poker had haunted him for weeks, months even. He was not willing to put himself through that again. He’d only just shaken of the nickname.

“Okay fine,” Jemma huffed. “I suggest we just strip then.”

“What, like naked stripping?”

Jemma rolled her eyes, “You can’t strip if you’re already naked, Fitz. No, I suggest that we strip to our underwear and huddle together for warmth. Seems like the only sufficient way to solve this predicament.”

“Huddle where?” Jemma cocked her brow and the message seemed to click into place. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. I mean, we’re just best friends, Fitz. I’m fairly sure we can handle sleeping in the same bed together. I mean technically, we have done it before so it’s nothing new really.”

This was true, to an extent. Fitz and Simmons had shared a bed multiple times when they had watched films together during late nights at the Academy. However, Fitz was fairly sure that a) none of the times they had slept together were on purpose and b) that they didn’t involve them being in their underwear.

“It’ll be fine, I promise,” Jemma continued as she noticed some worry lines appearing on Fitz’s face. “It’s just gonna be me and you, hanging out. Just like we always do. I promise.”

“Pinky swear?”

Jemma pulled out her little finger and wrapped it around Fitz’s. “I swear on my pinky. Now, I need you to stay in her for a while whilst I take my clothes off.”

 

 

 

A few minutes later, Jemma shouted that it was safe for Fitz to come inside. She was tucked up in his bed with the covers drawn up to her chin, so only her head poked out from under the covers.

“Your head looks like its floating,” Fitz told her with a smirk drawn onto his face. It grew wider as Jemma wiggled her head from side to side and made it look like her head was floating around on top of the covers.

“Okay now, Jemma, don’t look.”

“I wasn’t going to look.”

“I’m just checking.”

“Mmmm.”

Jemma’s floating head receded itself back under the covers and as soon as Fitz checked the coast was clear, he started to get undressed.

“Just so you know,” Jemma babbled from under the covers, “I farted on your side of the bed to keep it warm for you.”

Fitz screwed up his face as he took off his shirt. “You’re disgusting.”

“But loveable.”

“But also disgusting.”

Jemma shook her head under the covers. “Only on Monday’s between the hours of ten and twelve.”

“But it’s Friday.”

“See? Not disgusting.”

Fitz rolled his eyes and kicked his trousers off of his legs (with only some minor struggling). Sometimes he really didn’t understand Jemma’s logic. But that didn’t matter now, as he was stood in the middle of the room, in his underwear, and he was absolutely freezing.

“Brace yourself.”

“Why?”

Fitz brushed down his arms and jumped on the spot to prepare himself. “I’m coming in.”

Before Jemma had a chance to reaction, there was a loud _thud!_ on the bed which made her jump out of her skin.

“Don’t do that!” she squeaked, removing her head from under the covers which earned her a scolding from Fitz.

“I didn’t say I was ready yet!”

“Well I didn’t say I wanted to be killed by a flying potato but here we are.”

“That’s a little harsh.”

“Possibly,” Jemma admitted. She had been rather brash with that comment. “However, I hate it when you do that!”

“I know,” Fitz smirked. Jemma hit him on the arm and huffed, before lying rigidly in bed next to her rather exposed best friend.

When Jemma had suggested the scenario, she hadn’t anticipated the awkwardness that would follow. She had only suggested it for scientific purposes, since the water – and the hotel room for that matter – were freezing, and studies had shown that lying together with minimal clothing on helped to warm people up. What she didn’t anticipate was how much her thoughts would be consumed by the fact that her best friend’s bare skin was only millimetres next to hers, and how her thoughts were anything but scientific at this point.

Similarly, Fitz found his thoughts consumed by Jemma. He thought about how her skin was radiating heat right next to his, and how he could literally feel the heat rising from her body and warming his as a result. And how her bare skin was just there, and how he really just wanting to poke it.

“Do you reckon you could get pregnant using the force?”

The words fell out of Fitz’s mouth. He hadn’t really expected to say it, but now that he had he just had to roll with it. The silence had gone on too long.

Jemma shrugged, “I don’t know, do you want to try it?”

“Sure.” Fitz turned to his side and pressed his hands to either side of his temple, scrunching up his face as he attempted to use the force on Jemma’s stomach.

“Do you feel pregnant yet?”

Jemma shook her head, “No.”

“Well that’s disappointing.”

“Mmmm.”

Despite Fitz’s attempts, the silence soon returned.

“What’s the point of an avocado?” he began again, trying to talk his way out of the silence. “No really, what is the point. It’s just green. And green things are just a big avoca _don_ _’t_ to me.”

Fitz grinned as he heard Jemma chuckling to herself under the covers. He could have sworn he heard her say “Avacadon’t” under the covers as she laughed, but her voice was so soft that he couldn’t have been sure.

It wasn’t until Jemma peered her head out from under the covers, a smile plastered across her face that Fitz knew that she had.

“Spoon with me.”

“What?”

Jemma tilted her head to the side. “Will you spoon with me, Fitz?”

“Spoon as in be really really close to one another, like spoons?” He pressed his hands together to try and demonstrate what he meant, but Jemma didn’t seem to understand what he was getting at.

“Yes, like spoons, Fitz. That’s why it’s called ‘spooning’.”

“Ah.”

“So is that a yes?”

Really, Fitz couldn’t think up much of an argument to say no. Besides, he and Jemma had crossed some major boundaries in their friendship during the course of the evening, so surely one more couldn’t hurt.

“Sure,” he told her, although he soon began to regret his decision when Jemma had decided to make him the little spoon. “Why do I have to be the little spoon?”

“Because your curls make a nice face cushion. And also because I said so.” Fitz huffed as Jemma wrapped her arms around his waist, though not before patting down Fitz’s curls, which had become wilder over the course of the night. “Fitz, your hair feels drunk.”

“You’re the one that’s drunk.”

“More than one thing can be drunk at once, Fitz.”

He giggled, “You’re drunk.”

She turned him onto his back, allowing herself to look him directly in the eye in a very serious manner. “How very dare you accuse me of such a thing.” She jabbed him in the ribs to emphasise her point further.

Fitz squirmed in protest and before Jemma had a chance to laugh at how he had shrunken under the covers, she let out a rather loud squeak.

“Liar!” Fitz’s hands clasped over her mouth. “You may have more PhD’s than me, but I’m still smarter than you.”

Jemma scoffed, “How _dare_ you. You will never be smarter than me!” Fitz’s smirk grew even wider when Jemma hiccupped at the end of her sentence: a tell-tale sign that she was lying.

“Nope.” She hiccupped again.

Not knowing what else to do, Jemma yanked the covers from Fitz and created a cocoon where she could hide in denial. “My own body is betraying me!” she whimpered from under the covers.

Fitz let Jemma’s squeaks of betrayal die down before he found her head under the layers of covers. She tried to duck her head down further when he found her, but she had wrapped herself up too tightly and ended up getting stuck in the process.

“Fitz, I’m stuck,” she squeaked.  

But Fitz already knew. “Is that better?”

“Much.”

Still within the confines of the cocoon, Jemma looked up at her best friend. He looked scruffier than ever and his hair was still wet from their little adventure in the bathroom. There was even traces of stubble dotting his jawline, which she didn’t not expect to see (especially since for a very long time she had thought Fitz was incapable of growing stubble. However, she found herself very glad to be proven wrong).

Slowly, Jemma rolled towards Fitz. It only took her half a roll to bump into his chest, though to her it felt like she had rolled a marathon. She smiled as their bodies clashed, grinning up towards Fitz who was rather unsure of what was going on, before adjusting herself so that her head was at the perfect angle to rest on his chest.

“What are you doing, Jemma?”

“Getting comfy.” Fitz’s chest was incredibly comfy, she had to admit.

Fitz let his arm fall by the side of Jemma’s cocoon, puller her closer to him as she continued to find exactly the right spot to rest her head on. “Comfy now?”

She nodded, “Very.”

Jemma hummed contently as she listened to the rise and fall of Fitz’s chest, along with the steady rhythm of his heart keeping his blood pumping in the background. It was almost a relief when she heard the inner workings of Fitz’s body for the first time. Because that meant that he was real, and Jemma didn’t really know what she’d done to deserve someone as _real_ as Fitz, in a manner of speaking.

“Goodnight, Fitz.”

Her voice was a mere whisper as she closed her eyes and drowned out the sounds of the world, only focusing on the heartbeat echoing through her best friend’s chest as she let herself be lulled into a peaceful sleep.

“Goodnight, Jemma.”

Fitz lay awake for a moment, watching Jemma’s breathing slow as she drifted further and further away from consciousness. It was only when she started to snore a little that Fitz allowed himself to do the same, wondering how exactly Jemma managed to look so beautiful in her sleep.

 

 

 

“Simmons?”

“Simmons, where are you?”

“Simmons, I’m dying.”

“Simmons.”

_“Simmons!_ _”_

“I’m fairly sure you’re not meant to throw things at people that are dying, Simmons!”

Jemma threw herself onto the edge of the bed, seemingly proud of herself, and placed her hands tucked under her chin as if she were a five year old posing for a photoshoot. “Well, I’m pretty sure there’s an exception for especially annoying Scottish corpses. They are the _worst_.”

He pulled a face, but Jemma only shrugged in response. “That’s not me. That’s science.”

He let out a pained groan.

“Fitz, you’re a corpse. You’re not supposed to groan – hey!” Jemma’s giggle encapsulated the room as she tried to block the pillow that was heading her way, only to find herself landing on the floor right beside Fitz, giggling even harder than before.

“Simmons, are you still drunk?”

“Define drunk.”

“As in, are you still processing the copious amounts of alcohol you consumed the night before?”

Jemma frowned. “Use it in a sentence.”

“Jemma Simmons, are you still drunk?”

“I don’t understand the question.” She started to giggle again. _The little shit._

“I don’t like drunk you.”

Jemma shuffled her way closer to Fitz, close enough so that her knee grazed his ribs. Or, close enough so that Jemma was able to reach down and let out a loud, elongated _“Boop,_ _”_ as she reached down and squeezed his nose with the tip of her finger.

“You love drunk me.” When Fitz failed to agree with her statement, she took hold of each of his cheeks and cooed. “Admit it. You _love_ me.”

“I’d love it if you’d get off me.”

“That’s what she said.”

“What?”

“What?”

“You’re exhausting.”

“But I’m worth it.” She titled her head to the side and pouted. “Admit it. You would be miserable without me.”

Fitz stared at Jemma for a moment. She was rocking slightly, the alcohol still buzzing round her system, but he knew she was right. He would be miserable without her. They might have only known each other for just upwards of a year, but he truly wouldn’t know what to do without his rather odd best friend by his side.

“I knew it.”

He scowled, “I didn’t even say anything!”

“You didn’t have to. I know when you know I’m right.”

“How?”

“I know everything,” she threw her arms in the air to further her point. “Everything!”

“You’re not a Disney villain, Jemma.”

“I could be. You never know. The world does have a penchant for particularly charming English villains, after all.”

When he threw her a look, she reminded him that it wasn’t a lie which that only make him chuckle further.

Fitz glanced at Jemma again, but somehow there was something that felt a little different. She was staring right at him with a slightly dazed expression, her lips curling into a laugh more than every five seconds. He’d never seen her so carefree before. He rather liked.

“You’re –“ he began, looking at Jemma as if he was her entire world. But the churning in his stomach seemed to have other ideas.

“What?” She ran after Fitz only to find the bathroom door being slammed shut in her face. She pressed her ear against the door and knocked with her own little rhythm that at any other time Fitz would have probably smiled with appreciation, but at that current time he was too pre-occupied to care. Jemma, on the other hand, had slightly different priorities, and continued to tap on the door to ask Fitz what the end of his sentence was.

That was until she heard sounds that she’d never thought she’d have to hear coming from her friends body and at that point, she gave up her quest and ran as far away from the door as she could, clamping her hands over her ears to try and drown it all out.

 

 

 

“Protect the curls!” Fitz half shouted into the toilet bowl. “Protect my curls, Simmons, they’re all I have!”

With both hands clamped around Fitz’s hairline, and her face as face away from the toilet bowl as she could, Jemma scoffed. “Am I not important anymore?”

“Not as important as my curls.” Fitz rested his head briefly on the edge of the toilet bowl. “My mum gave them to me.”

“But I gave you friendship. Also, I am quite literally protecting your curls so therefore I certainly should be just as important – if not more – than your curls.”

Fitz glared at her.

Jemma frowned, suddenly finding herself rather self-conscious as Fitz was looking at her in a way she’d never seen before; she didn’t like it. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re right.”

“I am?”

“You are rather wonderful.”

Jemma tutted, “Well I could have told you that.”

“You did.”

“Oh yeah.”

Fitz gave a light laugh at Jemma’s bewilderment. She didn’t take much notice, but instead just shrugged and pressed her chin against Fitz’s shoulder. She was still rocking from side to side – not that she was probably still aware of it – and with her hands wrapped around Fitz’s waist, she moved him to her own rhythm.

He swayed along with her in spite of the fact it made him feel a little worse than before. But nonetheless, he appreciated the thought. A drunken, slightly misplaced thought anyhow.

Fitz tilted his head towards Jemma’s. Her hair was still a mess from the night before, but she didn’t seem to mind. She seemed completely at peace, which was something he’d never quite seen before. It looked good on her.

“Thank you.” Fitz’s voice was so hushed that Jemma almost didn’t realised he’d said anything.

“What for?”

“Being my friend.”

 “Anytime, matey.” She nudged him playfully, but quickly pulled a face after she’d said it.

“You’ve never said that before, have you?”

“No,” she shook her head and scrunched up her nose as she replayed the moment in her head, “and I never will again.”

Fitz murmured “Thank god,” only to be hit on the arm by a slightly offended Jemma. “I think you’re great, but you really can’t pull that off.”

She was about to say something and then stopped herself. Fitz watched her bob her head from side to side as she thought, before eventually screwing up her face and nodding.

Jemma leant her head back on Fitz’s shoulder, her hands resting under her chin. He smiled at her and she smiled back, and they shared a small laugh as they caught one another taking a glimpse at one another.

Fitz let his head rest against hers once more. He didn’t know why, but he found it comforting to know that Jemma was there in spite of the state he was in. Sure, she was drunk and probably not a hundred per cent aware of what was happening, but she stayed. She could have gone to her hotel room at any point, but she stayed. He shouldn’t have been surprised really, she was his best friend after all. But sometimes it did catch him completely off guard that someone as incredible as Jemma Simmons considered him to be her best friend.

“Fitz,” Jemma’s giggles brought him back to reality. She took one look at him, and with a spring to her voice she whispered “I can hear my heart singing.”

As Jemma giggled into his shoulder, Fitz threw his head back and groaned. His groans grew louder as Jemma begin to sing aloud the tune of her heart, which was really more like a childish lullaby made up of ‘la’s’, if you asked Fitz. The fact it seemed to grate with the pounding in his head didn’t make him appreciate anymore.

Jemma’s singing ceased when Fitz suddenly lurched towards the toilet bowl. She knew what was happening, so she turned her head away to avoid seeing the contents of Fitz’s stomach (even though on any other day she would have been a little fascinated had she not known she would be there next).

She asked him if he was okay, but she was just met with more sounds that she really didn’t want to hear coming from her best friend, so she just kept a hand on his shoulder and let the tune of her heart drown out her ears. Even if the tune of her heart happened to be a weird churning sensation in her stomach.

“Huh?”

Jemma didn’t realise Fitz was looking at her, or rather the shirt she was wearing.

“You’re wearing my shirt.”

Jemma looked down. “So I am. I thought it was mine, sorry. Things all look strangely similar in the dark.” She focused her wavering concentration on rubbing small circles onto Fitz’s shoulder as he heaved once more. “I lost my bra.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“First of all, that was my favourite bra, so it has to do with everything. Secondly, I didn’t really want to walk around our hotel topless. We might be best friends, but we’re definitely not close enough for those sort of shenanigans.”

Fitz paused for a moment, a little breathless as he flushed the chain to try and eradicate the pungent smell from the room. “I think I saw your bra on the bed post.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Jemma felt almost as if she could clap her hands together with glee. “Oh thank goodness! Those things are expensive. Why was it on the bedpost?”

“It’s your bra, you tell me?”

“Touché.” She flashed Fitz a small smile, although it disappeared almost as quickly as it came. “Fitz, may I ask you a question?”

“What?”

“Would you be able to hold my hair back for me?” When he asked why, her answer was brief. “Because I’m fairly sure that I’m going to throw up.”

Before they’d had a chance to realise, their roles had switched. Fitz began to rub circles into Jemma’s shoulder whilst she held her head over the toilet bowl, making sounds that Fitz didn’t really want to hear coming out of his best friend. But he stayed nonetheless.

That was what best friends did. 

 

 

 

In the few hours that had passed, Fitz and Simmons had barely left the bathroom. Jemma’s cheerful drunkenness had seemed to subdue itself as the hours dragged by until she too, felt as if she was dying.

“We should move,” she told Fitz, acknowledging the time. People would probably start to worry where they were soon.

From the other side of the bathroom, Fitz groaned with agreement. They were the special guests after all. Though, it didn’t stop him from suggesting that they could always just stay exactly where they were. I mean they were the special guests, after all. They’d understand.

To Fitz’s surprise, Jemma seemed to appreciate his logic. “That does sounds like a much better plan,” she agreed, noting the rotten taste in her mouth and how her head appeared to pound in time with her heartbeat. “Though, it’s hardly practical. Besides, they’re expecting us downstairs in an hour.”

“I’m never going to make it that far,” Fitz muttered to himself. Jemma’s stomach growled in agreement.

“I’m afraid we don’t have much of a choice,” she glanced to the door and grimaced. “Bugger knows how we’re going to do it though.”

Fitz brought up the idea of never leaving the bathroom, since that way they’d never have to move again. Surprisingly, Jemma seemed to warm to the idea. “If that means we’d never be hungover again, like the sound of it.”

“We could order room service.”

“Room service could be fun! But no alcohol,” she told him, “There is nothing on God’s green Earth that would make me want to drink again. But oh, we would never have to clean again! Fitz, I think you have stumbled onto something rather brilliant here.”

“We could live our lives in this tiny, little bathroom.” Fitz smiled weakly as he began to imagine what their lives could look like from the confines of the hotel bathroom.

Jemma matched his smile. “It is a rather nice bathroom, I suppose. There are worse places we could spend the reminder of our lives. Like a bunker at the bottom of the ocean, for example.”

“Yeah, that would be awful.” Fitz shuddered at the thought.

“We could grow up in this bathroom, you and me. Hell, we could get married in this bathroom.”

His chuckle was music to Jemma’s ears. “It will be the most beautiful wedding.”

“My veil would be made of the finest toilet paper in all the land.” She flicked some of the hair from her face as the thought of her toilet paper veil made her feel like the most exquisite bride in all the land. “And we could have tiny little children!”

“If we had a girl, we would have to name her Lucy.”

“Why Lucy?”

Fitz cocked his head towards the toilet. “ _Loo_ -cy.” Jemma rolled her eyes despairingly. “Get it?”

“Yes, I get it.” She threw him an affectionate smile. “I’m sure the hotel staff would appreciate that.”

“Excuse me, any person with good sense would appreciate that.”

“Maybe you’re overestimating how many people in the world have ‘good sense’.”

Fitz feigned shock, leading them both into rounds of weak laughter (something that later made them both wince since they had briefly forgotten about the pounding in their heads but still appreciated after it had happened).

“But,” Jemma added, “if I was ever going to spend my life curled up in the foetal position in the bathroom of a no-more-than-adequate hotel, then I’m glad it was with you.”

“Me too.”

From across the room, they matched one another’s expressions and laid their hands out for the other to reach. It only took a minor amount of shuffling (and a small bit of cursing on Jemma’s part as she regretted not having gotten the genes of the taller part of her family), but soon their fingertips brushed against one another. And with a little more effort, their hands were clasped round each other’s once again.

“Simmons?”

“Yes, Fitz?”

His line of sight drifted from the look of pure content on Jemma’s face to their entwined hands. The gesture seemed to spark something in his memory. “Your hands are still cold.”

Jemma pressed her spare hand to her face, “Blimey, so they are. Probably just some bad circulation, that’s all.”

“Or wine?”

“What?” but soon the memory came traipsing back to her. She looked at Fitz for some sort of assurance, but he didn’t really have anything to give her. “Was I really that bad?”

“Just a tad,” he replied, quickly finding a toilet roll being aimed at his head at the mention of _his_ name.

After a small surrender, Jemma put down her weapons. She rolled onto her back to stare at the ceiling – it wasn’t nearly as interesting as it had been the night before. So then she turned back to Fitz, who was looking right back at her with a smile she had never quite seen before. It looked good on him.

“Come on, you.”

Fitz groaned as Jemma pulled him up from the floor, wiping the smile straight off his face. He reminded her of their possible future cooped away in the bathroom and how she was betraying their future soap child by making him move, but she didn’t listen and instead dragged a very reluctant and nauseous Fitz back to reality.

“Come on you, we’ve got science to do.”

 

 

 

The conference seemed to drag on for what Fitz would later describe as being weeks on end, when really it was nothing more than a few hours.

Arm in arm, they stumbled down the stairs. They composed themselves as best they could in order not to alert suspicion, especially since if people realise just how hungover they were, they’d never hear the end of it. It would be mythologised into Class of ’04 history. But thankfully, everyone else happened in just as much of a state as they were, so no one really took any notice.

Throughout the day, Fitz fell asleep on Jemma’s shoulder on multiple times. Not that she minded of course, she’d left her jacket back in the hotel room so it was rather nice to have Fitz radiate warmth against her shoulder. Though it never lasted as long as she would have liked.

Just as Fitz would make himself comfortable, Jemma’s stomach would start to lurch and she found herself have to excuse herself from the conference, muttering “It’s happening,” under her breath as she directed herself to the nearest bathroom. At least when she came back, Fitz would still be there, sleepy as ever, ready to curl back up next to her and start all over again.

The third time she came back, he took her hands in his. He squeezed them tightly, flashing her a weak smile before curling up next to her and pretending to focus his attention on the lecture on dendrotoxins which he probably would have loved if he wasn’t ‘dying’, of a sort.

Jemma let her head rest against his. His curls made a nice cushion, she thought to herself.

“Thank you,” she whispered to Fitz, not knowing whether he’d dozed off again or not. But she was relieved when he whispered back a reply.

“What for?”

“You know what.”

Fitz squeezed her hand again, though he didn’t shift his focus from the lecture. “Anytime.”

They allowed themselves to sit like that for a while, just the two of them, slowly ‘dying’ at the back of the lecture, with their bodies slightly tangled up in one another’s. When the time came for them to present, they couldn’t help but be somewhat disappointed. Not that they hadn’t been looking forward to the presentation because they had (Jemma had even colour coded three entire folders in preparation for the event), but it meant that they would have to move away from the strange comfort they’d found curled up next to each other like they had been for the past few hours.

It also meant they would have to move and risk throwing up all over the front row during their lecture. That too.

“Are you ready for this?” Fitz whispered as they prepared for their names to be called.

“Not in the slightest.” Jemma’s stomach churned.

“Do you reckon we should do it anyway?”

Jemma’s smile was brighter than it had been all morning, “Definitely.”

So side by side, as Fitz and as Simmons, they stepped out onto the stage and did exactly gave a lecture they never knew they could (and with minor bouts of sickness ailing their performance). But they were Fitzsimmons, and together they could do just about anything.


End file.
